


Kinktober Eighteenth: Stitches

by KabochaKitsune



Series: Kinktober 2019 [18]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Age Difference, Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Chains, Choking, Drooling, Familial Abuse, Fingers in Mouth, Forced, Graphic Description, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Haki (One Piece), Handcuffs, Imprisonment, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, It Gets Worse, Kairouseki | Seastone, Kidnapping, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Licking, M/M, Medical Horror, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Mocking, Mouth injury, Non-Consensual, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Pseudo-Incest, Psychological Torture, Rape, Sadism, Self-Inflicted Injury, Size Difference, Slut Shaming, Stitches, Tears, To Be Continued, Tongues, Torture, Victim Blaming, Violence, Wound Fondling, shackles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 12:43:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KabochaKitsune/pseuds/KabochaKitsune
Summary: Law thrashed, snarling, despite the seastone cuffs. Despite the bullets still lodged in his torso. Despite how hard his body was trying to draw him down into weakened rest. Unconsciousness wouldn't last long even if he attained it, anyway.If it had just been death, he'd have taken it with dignity. There was nothing dignified intaking itin this situation.





	Kinktober Eighteenth: Stitches

**Author's Note:**

> Oooh, I haven't gotten to use the Graphic Depictions of Violence archive warning before.
> 
> Strap in. Mind the tags. Mind all of the tags.
> 
> [That Kinktober Generator](https://corsetsandlemons.tumblr.com/post/187862017291/the100kinkmeme-hello-soon-will-be-the-holiest), Day 18: Rape/Non-con.

"Tell me. What did you hope to accomplish by allying yourself with a crew that's so... erratic?"

_That's putting it nicely_, Law thought bitterly to himself.

"Anything to fuck with you to the very edge of possibility, I suppose."

Doflamingo laughed, low and cruel. (All of his laughter was cruel.)

"How are a ragtag bunch of fools meant to fuck with me, dear boy?"

Law's lip curled. "If they aren't dead yet, that remains to be seen. I seem to have drawn a wildcard."

The smirk on that foul, too-large mouth widened; large fingers - also too large, _familiarly_ too large - cupped and grasped his chin.

"Lucky you. You also drew the Joker."

\---

Law thrashed, snarling, despite the seastone cuffs. Despite the bullets still lodged in his torso. Despite how hard his body was trying to draw him down into weakened rest. Unconsciousness wouldn't last long even if he attained it, anyway.

If it had just been death, he'd have taken it with dignity. There was nothing dignified in _taking it_ in this situation.

He didn't know why he found this surprising in the least. Maybe it wasn't surprise, so much, as it had been hubris. <strike>_Hope._</strike>

_It wouldn't happen to me._

What a stupid, teenaged notion, whether conscious or not. He should have planned for this. He'd planned for everything else.

But what would he have planned? What out was there, once his wrists were clapped in seastone, once the chain between them was hooked above his head? Once he was in one of the long-abandoned cells beneath the colosseum, sprawled on a dirty cot, with Doflamingo yanking off his pants?

He could bite off his tongue and drown in his own blood. That might be more dignified. It would certainly be defiant.

But he'd already sustained enough blood loss, was weakened further enough by the drain of seastone, that he didn't think he could manage to get all the way through.

Fuck it. He tried anyway.

The taste of blood assaulted him, pain secondary to the disgust. What were a few teeth in his tongue in comparison to gunshot wounds in his stomach and chest? He bit down harder, ignoring his body's attempt to jerk his mouth open in protest. Even if he didn't bite it completely off -

"_Aagkh!_"

So much for that. Doflamingo's fingers were strong on his jaw, wrenching it open. Blood and spit trailed from the corners of his mouth, down the back of his throat, and he glowered up at a far too amused grin.

"Now, now. I'm not surprised the Ope Ope no Mi user would be a masochist, but let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Two fingers jammed into his mouth before he could retort, tracing tips through the wounds in his tongue, searing pain sharper than the initial bites had been: smooth teeth were one thing; callused skin quite another. He twisted, but Doflamingo was physically stronger even when Law wasn't weakened and shackled.

"Surprisingly deep," the larger man purred. "Let's just fix you up, shall we?"

The next stabs of pain were far worse. Stabs in the most literal of senses, making Law's eyes bug, his whole body thrash, a horrible noise gurgle in his throat through terror and blood.

Doflamingo's fucking threads were stitching his tongue back together.

He'd had sutures before, in his mouth no less, but minor childhood dental work was done under fucking anaesthesia. The threads _burned_ as they slid through skin, lanced pain both sharp and dull through the organ as they pulled taut. Pressing flaps of skin together externally was one thing; the lacerated meat of his tongue forced against the rest, nearly every _cell_ so sensitive with nerve endings, made his stomach lurch.

He tried to bite down again, once he found some fragment of bodily integrity. Dug teeth into those fingers, knowing he wouldn't make it through bone but wanting to at least shred skin, cause pain, make the other man pull back.

The reflexive response of armament haki infuriated Law on a level that surpassed the pain for half a second.

Yellow eyes _flashed_ in the dim, vicious hatred palpable even without conqueror's, without Zoro's mastery of ki: even with his mouth pouring bloody drool and his breath labored in his chest.

He had a bullet in his fucking lung.

Of course he did.

For his trouble, all Law got was a far too close lean, an inhuman loom. A too-long tongue trailing up the side of his jaw, lapping up blood and spit.

Those two fingers shoved deeper, making him choke, forcing his eyes to shut with the reflex.

He couldn't breathe. Twisted his head, gagging, airway blocked entirely by the sheer girth of those digits, lungs _burning_ and eyes _streaming_ and he hated that that would look like tears, hated that more than the choking or the pain or the promises of rape and death.

Only when they drew back, letting him choke on a mouthful of spit instead, coughing and rasping, did he notice the stitching of his tongue was finished. It was easier to tell with fingertips running lovingly over the sutures.

"What a sweet sight," the damnable bird mused. "Minutes in, nary a touch below the chin, and already you're wet and sobbing for me. What do the next few hours hold, do you think?"

Law wouldn't have wanted to respond to that if he could.

**Author's Note:**

> This. This is going to be much longer. Much much longer.
> 
> It's all downhill from here.
> 
> Want to support what I do? Find me on other sites through my [carrd](https://kabochakitsune.carrd.co/)!


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